SUVA.N.NA SÂMA JÂTAKA

(JÂTAKA 543)

JOURNAL

THE ROYAL ASIATIC SOCIETY.

[London, The Royal Asiatic Society]

[1894]

{Scanned and edited by Christopher M. Weimer, April 2002}

{circumflexes represent macrons in this file}

ART. VII.--The Story of Thuwannashan, or Suva.n.na Sâma Jâtaka, according to the Burmese version, published at the Hanthawati Press, Rangoon. By R. F. ST. ANDREW ST. JOHN, M.R.A.S.

A PECULIARLY interesting feature of this Jâtaka is the fact that it has undoubtedly been depicted on the western gateway of the Sanchi Tope (Figure 1 in Plate xxxvi. of Fergusson's "Tree and Serpent Worship"), and will illustrate what curiously erroneous theories may be evolved from imperfect data. I feel convinced that a complete knowledge of the Jâtaka and other stories current in Buddhist literature would enable one to explain most of the scenes depicted on these and other Buddhist ruins. That trees and serpents were, and are, largely worshipped is not to be denied, but I think it will be clearly seen from this and other plates that Fergusson did not draw correct deductions regarding the Sanchi and Amravati Topes. In his second edition he admits this.

Fergusson gives the dates of the Sanchi gates as first century A.D.; if this be correct, it proves that this is one of the early Jâtaka, and that the so-called ten greater Jâtaka are not all late compositions. At Plate xxxii. of the northern gate we have the Vessantara Jâtaka, and at
p. 212Plate xxiv. 2 Bhûridatta. Below is what Fergusson says of Plate xxxvi. p. 138 of the first edition.

"The upper portion of the plate represents one of those transactions between the Hindus and Dasyus, which have probably only a local meaning. . . . . .

"In the centre of the upper part of the picture a Hindu chief, or Râja, accompanied by his minister, is conversing with a Dasyu, whose two wives, or daughters, are seen beyond him on his left hand.

"On the Râja's right are two of the ordinary circular huts of the Dasyus, in front of which a man and woman are seated naked. They are sitting on their lower garments, and their upper cloaks are hung in their huts. Two monkeys are playing above them. Between these two huts is seen the fire-pot, which is almost an invariable accompaniment whenever these Dasyus are represented. Below it is the water-pot, and beside it the ladle or pincers. From their position here they would seem to be the sacred implements of the tribe. Did fire and serpent worship go together?" In his second edition, p. 151, he says:

"Mr. Beal is of opinion that Fig. 1, Plate xxxvi. represents the principal scenes of the Sâma Jâtaka as quoted below, and I am not prepared to say this may not be correct; but, if so, the form of the fable must have been considerably altered since the first century, at Sanchi, the king, does not kill the boy by accident. He is being deliberately shot by a soldier. The King is standing unarmed at some distance with his minister beside him, talking to an ascetic, accompanied by his two wives or daughters, and consequently not Dakhala, which, otherwise, we might fancy him to be from the repetition of the same figure occurring sometimes in these bas-reliefs.

"It is probable that the figure in front of the Pansalas are meant to be represented as blind, not only from their being naked, but also from the monkeys stealing the fruit and pulling the thatch off the roof, with other circumstances. The two figures in the centre do look like a reduplication of the boy and the minister, and it is absolutely necessary
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it should be so if the Sâma Jâtaka is to be identified at all with this sculpture. . . . It is going rather too far to represent the King abdicating his throne and becoming the slave of two blind hermits, because one of his soldiers had shot an innocent boy!"

Both Beal and Fergusson quote Hardy, whose summary of the Sâma Jâtaka in Eastern Monachism is very brief.

Where Fergusson got the idea of a minister and soldiers I cannot understand. Nor can I agree with Beal in thinking that the figure standing between Sâma and the archers is the Devi. It is clearly a man.

I would suggest that we must look at this picture as composed of two halves, the one to our right being the ordinary part of Sâma's life and that to the left the extraordinary. On the right we see the blind Dukûla and Pârikâ, and Sâma coming to draw water at the Migasammatâ, his usual vocation. On our left the king shoots and then converses with him. Above we see the Devi with Dukûla and Pârikâ making the "sacca kiriyâ," the king, wearing his cloth ungirt in the usual manner, standing behind. He then appears again in the centre, taking leave of Sâma and promising to lead a good life. The head of a duck in the water behind the left hand group shows that they are on the bank of a bend in the river.

Mr. Beal's remarks are to be found in R.A.S. Journal, Vol. V. N.S. p. 164.

Suva.n.na Sâma Jâtaka.[1]

In the country of Savutthi there was a very rich merchant who had an only son, and he was beloved by both his parents. One day, when looking out of the window, he saw a number of people going to the Jetavan monastery to hear the Buddha Gotama preach; so, taking

[1. In the Gâta he is always called Sâma, and I cannot find the word Suva.n.na. The number in Ceylon List is 543.]

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some flowers in his hand, he went with them. After the sermon was over he asked to be admitted to the Order, but the Buddha refused to admit him before he had obtained his parents' consent. He accordingly returned home and made known his wishes to his parents. They answered, "Alas! dear one, thou art the sole offshoot of thy family, and the apple of our eyes--our very life. If thou leavest us, how can we survive? We are getting old, and may die to-day or to-morrow. Do not leave us to become a Monk."

The youth, through grief, was unable to eat for seven days; so his parents said, "Verily, if we do not give him leave he will die, and we shall no longer behold him. It will be better to grant his request." So they consented.

The youth went with great joy into the presence of the Buddha and requested to be admitted to the Order. The Lord thereupon summoned a Monk and directed that he should be made a novice. After studying for five years he thought, "There is too much to distract me here, and I desire to complete myself in the Vipassanâdhura"; so, taking his Kammathan, he left Jetavan, and went into an out-of-the-way part of the country. However; after studying there for ten years, he was still unable to obtain the "path" or "fruition." During those ten years his parents had grown old, and, being robbed by their servants, were reduced to great poverty. Only one small water-pot remained to them.

At that time a Monk came out from Jetavan to the place where the novice was. Falling into conversation, the novice enquired after the health of the Buddha and his eighty chief disciples. Afterwards he made enquiries regarding his parents.

The Monk replied, "Good sir, do not ask me about them. They had an only son, who became an ascetic, and from that day they have declined and are now in abject poverty, begging their daily food."

The novice burst into tears, and, on the Monk asking why he wept, said, "O reverend sir, those poor ones are
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my own parents." The Monk answered, "In that case, young sir, your parents have been ruined through you; return and look after them." The novice reflected thus: "Though I have studied with diligence for ten years I have obtained neither 'the path' nor 'fruition.' I had better forsake this life, and, through taking care of my parents and other good works, obtain the Deva country."

In the morning he handed over his cell to the Monk, and started for Jetavan.

Now at the back of the monastery there were two roads, one leading to the monastery, and the other to the city. Standing there he reflected thus: "Ought I first to pay my respects to my parents, or to Buddha? I may see my parents for some time, but the Buddha only this day. I will go at once to the Buddha, and to-morrow go to see my parents."

Now that very morning the Excellent One had taken a survey of the world, and had seen that the novice was on the point of attaining "the path," so, when he arrived at the monastery, the Lord was preaching on the "Sutta," called Mâtuposaka.

The novice, sitting at the edge of the assembly, heard this beautiful discourse, and thought, "I can leave the Order and look after my parents. But the excellent Lord says, 'Even though you be a Rahan you should repay your parents for the benefits they have conferred upon you.' Verily, had I passed by without doing reverence to the Lord, I should have been abased from the status of a Rahan, which is so difficult to attain. I will not leave the Order, but remain in it and look after my parents." Having made a reverent obeisance to the Lord he left Jetavan and proceeded to Sâvatthi, and having begged his food and taking it to the forest, became as if he were one who had merited expulsion (Pârâjika).

In the morning he went to beg his rice, and then to see if he could find his parents. At the same time they, having begged their daily meal, were sitting under the wall of
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a house, and the novice, seeing them, stood near with eyes full of tears through grief for their miserable condition. They did not recognize him, however, and his mother, thinking that he stood there waiting for food, said, "Reverend sir, we are very poor and have nothing fit to offer you, we beg your pardon." On hearing this the Monk still stood there with streaming eyes and a bursting heart. Then his father said to his mother, "Lady, go and see who he is." So his mother got up, and, going near, recognized him. Like one who is mad she crouched at his feet and wept bitterly. His father also embraced his feet and wept likewise. The Monk, unable to restrain himself, wept also. At last, controlling his grief, he said, "Be not afraid, dear parents, I will feed you." From that day forth he begged and fed them. If he got sufficient for his own wants he ate, but, if not, he fasted. If clothes were given him he presented them to his parents, and after they had worn them out, he patched and dyed them, and wore them himself. Through feeding his parents he became thin, like a dry leaf.

The Monks, who were his companions, then questioned him, saying, "Sir, you were once very handsome, but now you are rough, dirty, and withered; what ails you? Why do you give away the offerings made to you? It is not lawful."

He hid his head through shame and made no answer. The Monks went to Buddha, and said, "Lord, this Monk makes away with the goods that are presented to him." The Lord then sent for him and questioned him, saying, "Dear sir, is it true that you give to men the things that are bestowed upon you as offerings?" The Monk replied, "It is true, Lord. I give them to my parents." The Lord replied, "Dear sir, it is well done, it is well done. Thou art one who walkest in 'the path.' In former ages I also supported my parents." The young Monk was comforted and the Buddha remained silent.

The Monks then asked the Buddha to relate the story of his former existence, and he related as follows.

In times long past, near Bârâ.nasi, there flowed a stream, and on one side stood a village called Nesâdagâma, and on the other bank there was also another village. Both were inhabited by fisher-folk, and governed by headmen who from their youth were friends, and had engaged to give their children in marriage to one another. In course of time to one was born a son, to whom he gave the name of Dukûla; and in the other's house was born a girl, to whom they gave the name of Pârikâ (or Pârimâ).

These two were very handsome, and, though of the fisher caste, would take no life.

When Dukûla was sixteen his parents said, "Dear son, our friend's daughter is very lovely, we wish you to marry her." But he, being one who had just been born from the Brahma heavens, closed his ears, and, though they pressed him again and again, refused.

The parents of Pârikâ also pressed her to marry Dukûla, but she would not.

Dukûla then sent Pârikâ a secret message, to the effect that she had better marry some one else, and she also sent a message to the same effect. The parents forced them to wed, but, nevertheless, they embarked not on the ocean of lust, but, with the consent of their parents, became hermits. Leaving their native villages, they retired to Himavanta, and following a tributary of the Ganges, called Migasammatâ, they at last arrived in the forest. Sakka, becorning aware of their intention, directed Visakrom to prepare a cell for them.

Dukûla and Pârikâ, following a path, came to their cell, and seeing, by the inscription, that it was intended for them, took off their ordinary garments and put on the hermit's dresses that had been prepared for them. They studied the Kâmâvacara Brahmavihâra, and became so imbued with lovingkindness that all the birds and animals loved them, and harmed them not. Every day they drew water from the stream, and went in search of fruits. Living apart, they kept the rules of ascetics most rigorously.

One day Sakka came to see how they were getting on, and,
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foreseeing that their eyes would become blind, approached them, and, addressing Dukûla, said, "Reverend sir, I see that danger may befall you. Why do you not cohabit with your wife and obtain a son?"

Dukûla answered, "Lord Sakka, why dost thou say this? When we lived amongst men we hated their ways, and now that we have become hermits how can we act thus?" Sakka replied, "There is no need for you to do so, but, at certain times, stroke Pârikâ's navel with your hand." He then took his departure.

When Dukûla told Pârikâ she consented. Just then the Bodhisat was about to leave the Deva-heavens, so he took up his abode in the womb of Pârikâ, who, in due course, bore a son, whom she named Suva.n.nasâma. When Pârikâ went into the forest in search of fruits and roots the Kinnari nursed him.

At the age of sixteen Suva.n.nasâma was alone in the cell, whilst his parents had gone out, and a great storm came on. They took refuge beneath a tree on a mound, in which dwelt a huge serpent. The rain washing the smell of their bodies into the serpent's nostrils it became enraged, and spat forth its poison, so that they both became blind and unable to find their way home.[1] As his parents did not return at the usual time, Suva.n.nasâma was alarmed, and determined to go and find them, so he went into the forest shouting Father! Mother!

When they heard him they answered, saying, "Do not come close, dear one, there is danger." So he reached out his staff to them, and told them to lay hold of it. Seeing they were both blind he first wept and then laughed. On their asking why he rejoiced, he replied, "Dear Father and Mother, I wept at the thought that you had become blind whilst still so young, but when I remembered that I should now have to take care of you, I rejoiced." He

[1. This blindness is explained as follows: "In a former existence Dukûla was a doctor and attended a rich man who would not pay him. Being angry he went home and told his wife. The wife said, 'Go back and give him some medicine that will make him blind again.' He acted on this advice, and the rich man again lost his sight."]

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then conducted them to the cell, and from that day took care of them, going daily to the forest in search of food. In this he was assisted by the Kinnaras.

Now at that time there reigned in the city of Bârâ.nasi a king named Pi.liyakkha, who was so fond of hunting deer that he left his kingdom in charge of his mother, and went into the Himavanta to hunt them. One day, after following the course of the Migasammatâ, he came to the place where Suva.n.nasâma was accustomed to draw water. Seeing footsteps he concealed himself in a thicket, holding his bow bent with a poisoned arrow ready.

In the cool of the evening, the Bodhisat, surrounded by deer, went down to the stream to draw water. Pi.liyakkha was astonished at the sight, and thought, "I have never seen anything like this before. Can it be a man or a Deva? I will draw near. If he be a Deva he will fly up into the sky, but if a Nâga he will sink into the earth, and I shall be unable to tell my nobles what it is that I met with. I had better shoot first and then see what it is." The Bodhisat had filled his pots and bathed, and, having put on his red garment, came up the bank. As he came Pi.liyakkha let fly his arrow, which entered at the right side and pierced him through to the left.

The Bodhisat, feeling that he was shot, and that the deer had all fled, carefully set down his water-pots, and, turning his face in the direction of the cell where his parents were, prostrated himself on the sand and there lamented.

(From this point the story is told in Pâli verse, somewhat in this fashion. In fact, the present form of the legend seems to be part of a miracle play.)

Sâma.

"Who has shot me with this arrow,
Me, so blameless, drawing water?
Brahman, Khattiya, or Vessa,
Lying hidden, who has shot me?

"I of Kâsi am the Râja,
I am known as Pi.liyakkha,
Casting off my state for pleasure,
Came I here to shoot the red deer.
Skilful am I with the long bow,
Far renowned for deeds of daring,
Ne'er may elephants escape me
Should they come within a bow-shot.
Say of whom thou art the offspring.
State thy name, thy tribe, thy father."

Sâma.

"I am of the tribe of Nesâda, and my parents call me Sâma. O King of Kâsi, behold me as I lie here bathed in blood, and pierced by thine arrow, as if I were a deer. See how I spit blood. Since thou hast mortally wounded me, I ask thee, O King, why thou hast shot me? Wast thou in search of a leopard's skin or the tusks of an elephant? Why hast thou shot me, O Râja."

Pi.liyakkha.

"The deer that I aimed at, being near thee, was startled when it saw thee and fled. Therefore, overcome by anger, I shot thee."

Sâma.

"O King, how canst thou say this? There is not a deer in the whole forest that would flee at the sight of me. From the time I began to know my own intelligence, from that moment neither deer nor other wild beasts fled from me. From the time that I first put on the red
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garment and attained youth, from that moment the animals fled not at my approach. O King, the Kinnaras, who dwell on the heights of Gandhamâdana, are a timid folk, but joyfully they accompany me in the forest and delight in my presence. Would a deer, then, be startled on seeing me?"

Pi.liyakkha.

"O Sâma, why do I speak falsely? The deer was not startled by thee; but in anger I let fly the arrow. Whence hast thou come, O Sâma, and by whom wast thou sent to draw water in the river Migasammatâ?"

Sâma.

"Blind are my father and mother, whom I cherish in this vast forest. For them I draw water, coming to the Migasammatâ.

"Alas! they, have but food for six days, and if water be not brought them they will die. My inability to see my parents is a far greater misery than the wound of this arrow. As for the pain caused by this arrow, all men will have to bear pain in hell. But if I see not my parents the smart will be far greater.

"Alas! my parents will be left weeping for me, solitary and helpless. Even now, O King, they are bewailing my absence, and wandering through the forest calling for Sâma. This thought, indeed, is like a second arrow that rends my heart. Ne'er again shall I behold those dear blind ones."

Pi.liyakkha.

"Weep not, O lovely Sâma, I will take up thy duties and feed them in this vast forest. I, so skilled with the bow; I, who am so rough and cruel; I will take upon me thy duties and feed thy parents; feeding them with fruits and meat left by the lions and tigers. O Sâma, where is their dwelling? Point it out quickly, and I will look after them as thou didst."

"By this footpath, O Râja, from the spot where I lie dying, having gone not half the distance that a man's shout may reach, there thou shalt find my parents' dwelling; there are my father and my mother. Thither go and support them, Râja.

Hail to thee, O King of Kâsi!
Hail to thee Kâsi's protector!
My blind father and my mother,
Feed, I pray thee, in this forest.
Raising to my head my clasp'd hands,
I implore thee, Kâsi's Râja;
To my father and my mother
My last loving words deliver."

The Râja promises to give the message and Sâma faints. Seeing that he had stopped breathing, and was growing stiff, the king became terrified, and, raising his hands to his head, lamented loudly, making the echoes resound with his cries, saying, "Formerly I thought not of death, but now that I see this Sâma dead before my very eyes, I know death must come to all men. But now he was speaking to me, and now through the power of this poisonous arrow he will speak no more, and I, who have slain this innocent one, must go to hell. For ages and ages I shall suffer, and I shall be known and reviled in every village as the king who did this terrible thing. Who is there in this vast forest, remote from men, who can revile me? In the towns and villages where men congregate let the memory of this sin be made known. Now I know that death must come to all, for I have seen it."

When Pi.liyakkha was thus bewailing his wretched fate and wickedness, the Devi Bahusundarî, who dwelt on the Gandhamâdana peak, and who watched over the Bodhisat like a mother, looked out to see how things were going with him, and seeing that he had been shot with an arrow, and that Pi.liyakkha was loudly lamenting over him as he lay on the silvery sands of the Migasammatâ, said, "Verily, if
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I do not go quickly my son will die, Pi.liyakkha's heart will break, and in consequence Sâma's parents will die of starvation. If Pi.liyakkha takes the water-pots to Sâma's parents he will be able to tell them, and bring them to the place where Sâma is lying. If he brings them there, both Dukûla, Pârikâ, and myself will make a solemn asseveration, the power of the poison will disappear, and Sâma recover his health. Dukûla and Pârikâ will also regain their sight, and King Pi.liyakkha, having listened to the Law preached by Sâma, return to Bârâ.nasi, make great offerings, and on his death go to Deva-land."

Bahusundarî, therefore, flew to the river Migasammatâ, and, hovering in the air, unseen, thus addressed Pi.liyakkha.

Bahusundarî.

"An evil deed hast thou done, Mahârâja, for thou hast slain three innocent persons with one arrow. Come hither and I will instruct thee how to support those blind ones, and so obtain a blessed hereafter."

On hearing these words Pi.liyakkha resolved to devote himself entirely to the support of Dukûla and Pârikâ. Then doing reverence to the corpse, and covering it with flowers, he poured out a libation and passed thrice round it. Then, after doing reverence to the four quarters of the heavens, he lifted the water-pots, with a heavy heart, and took the path leading southwards.

Dukûla.

"Whose is the sound of these footsteps? Can it be a man who comes hither? They are not the footsteps of Sâma, for he treads lightly. Who art thou, good sir?"

Pi.liyakkha.

"I am the Râja, of Kâsi, and I am named Pi.liyakkha. In pursuit of the red deer I have left my kingdom. Skilled am I in the use of the bow and well known for my strength. No elephant that comes within reach of my arrow can escape."

"Hail Mahârâja! May thy coming be propitious. Make known thy wishes. Here are tinduka and other fruits sweet and pleasant. Eat them, Mahârâja, for they are choice ones. Here, too, is cool water brought from the mountain rill. Drink, Mahârâja, drink freely."

Pi.liyakkha.

"Who, then, has brought ye these fruits, O blind ones? Ye have so choice a collection that I think ye are not really blind."

Dukûla.

"O Râja, these fruits were not brought by us, but by our son, our youthful Sâma. A youth of goodly mien. He has taken his pitcher to the Migasammatâ to get water for our use and ought to be returning."

Pi.liyakkha.

"Alas, hermits, I have slain with a poisoned arrow the beauteous Sâma, who supports you. That Sâma whose locks are long and black. This Sâma, whom I have unfortunately slain on the banks of the Migasammatâ, lies blood-stained on the silvery sand."

Pârikâ.

"Dukûla, who is this who speaks of the death of Sâma? At his words I tremble as though my heart would break."

Dukûla.

"It is the Lord of Kâsi, who says that he has slain Sâma whilst shooting deer near Migasammatâ. Be not angry."

"Pârikâ, though he has slain the dear son who supported us in our blindness, it is not good to be angry. Anger brings not a good result."

Dukûla and Pârikâ beat their breasts and wail.

Pi.liyakkha.

"Alas! Dukûla and Pârikâ, I have slain your Sâma. Weep not thus for your dear one, for I will support you in this desolate wilderness. I am skilled in the use of the bow, and will supply your wants. Flesh and fruits will I bring to you, and cool water from the spring. Be not afraid. I desire not to be Râja, but will wait upon you till my life's end."

"O hermits, who are of the tribe of Nesâda, henceforth ye shall be honoured. Thou, Dukûla, shalt be my father, and thou, Pârikâ, my mother."

Dukûla and Pârikâ.

"Hail to thee Râja, of Kâsi! Hail to thee, Kâsi's protector! With supplicant hands we entreat thee to lead us where Sâma is lying, so that when we have caressed his lovely face and feet we may ourselves follow in his footsteps."

Pi.liyakkha.

"My friends, Sâma, whom, alas, I have killed with my arrow, is dead in this vast forest of Himavanta, that is full of all manner of terrible beasts. For this night, I pray you, remain in your cells."

"Though in this far-stretching forest there are beasts in hundreds and thousands we fear them not in the slightest, no hurt nor harm will they do us."

The Buddha.

O Bhikkhus, Pi.liyakkha, being unable to prevent them from going, took them by the hand, and led them to the place where Sâma was lying.

On beholding (P. Disvâna patitam Sâmam: though they were blind) Sâma lying in the forest besprinkled with dust, like the sun or the moon that has fallen to the earth, his mother, afflicted by grief, then solemnly made an asseveration.

Pârikâ.

"By virtue of the fact that my son Sâma strictly performed all the duties of a Brahmacâri: by the virtue of those duties may the poisonous venom of the arrow disappear."

"My son Sâma was ever truthful: by the power of that virtue may the poison disappear."

"My Sâma was ever dutiful to his parents: by the power of that virtue may the poison disappear."

"My Sâma was ever respectful to his parents and his elders: by the power of that virtue may the poison disappear."

"I loved my Sâma more than life: by the power of that love may the poison disappear."

"If there be any merit accruing to thee, dear son, or to me, or thy father, of which we have taken no account: by virtue of that merit may the power of the poison pass away."

Dukûla, perceiving a slight movement, cried out, "My son still lives," and then proceeded to make an asseveration in the same words. Sâma rolls over on to his other side, and the Devi Bahusundarî continues:

"Long have I dwelt in Gandhamâdana. None other have I loved but Sâma, who was as my own son: by the power of this love may the poison be assuaged."

"As the forests of Gandhamâdana are full of sweet scents, and there is not a single tree therein that is not sweet scented, so may the venom of the poison pass away."

The Buddha.

Dear Bhikkhus, as soon as Bahusundarî had completed her asseveration the power of the poison disappeared, like rain drops from a lotus leaf, and Sâma rose up quickly with his wound healed, so that one could not tell where he had been hit.

By the power of the Devi they were all transported back to Dukûla's cell, and Dukûla and Pârikâ recovered their sight.

Sâma.

"O revered ones, behold your Sâma once more restored to health. Weep not, I pray, any longer, but speak only that which is pleasant."

(Turning to Pi.liyakkha.)

"O Râja, of Kâsi, may thy coming be propitious. If there is anything in this place that thou desirest, speak. Tinduka and other sweet fruits, mangoes, oranges, and citrons, all are here; take, eat, I pray thee. Here is water from the deep pools of the mountain stream--cool and refreshing. Eat and drink, O Râja."

Pi.liyakkha.

"O Sâma, I know not what to believe. Everything around me is in a haze, for I see thee again, O Sâma, risen from the dead. How didst thou come to life again?"

"Mahârâja, thou thoughtest that one who had become unconscious by reason of excessive pain was really dead. Mahârâja, men think that a man is dead when his breathing is stayed by reason of his ceasing to breathe."

"Or his mother or his father
Should a mortal rightly cherish,
Verily the gods will heal him,
Him, supporter of his parents.
Or his father or his mother
Should a mortal rightly cherish,
In this life all men extol him,
In the next he dwells in heaven."

Pi.liyakkha.

"Greatly have I been deluded
All confuses and perplexes:
I take refuge with thee, Sâma,
Be, I pray thee, my protector."

Sâma.

1.

"O Mahârâja, of pure Khattiya race, if thou keepest the law and supportest thy father and mother, thou shalt attain Sagga."

"O Mahârâja, act according to the law. By so doing both Inda, the Brahmas, and other Devas obtained their abodes."

"When the Bodhisat had thus instructed him, and taught him the five commandments, King Pi.liyakkha, after doing reverence, returned to Bârâ.nasi and made a great offering. At the end of his days he went to Deva-land.

Sâma and his parents, at their death, went to the country of the Brahmas.

The Buddha then summed up the Jâtaka, saying, "The Râja, who was then Pi.liyakkha, is now Ânanda; the Devi Bahusundarî is now Upalava.n.na, the second amongst my Bhikkhunis; Sakka is now Anuruddha; Dukûla is Mahâkassapa Thera; Pârikâ is now Bhaddakapila Therî; and Suva.n.nasâma is I, the Buddha.

Note.--Since writing the above I found a similar account of this Jâtaka in Rajendralâla Mitra's "Indo Aryans," p. 203.